


Twenty Five Years

by anyothergirl415



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-09
Updated: 2009-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyothergirl415/pseuds/anyothergirl415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are only certain ways Sam can cope once he’s left alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Five Years

**Author's Note:**

> 30 NaNo Shots 2009 - Prompt: Time

Twenty five years.

Three hundred months.

One thousand three hundred weeks.

Nine thousand one hundred and twenty five days.

Give or take.

This was how long Sam had with his brother _before_ and it was not until after he was gone that he realized how much of that time he wasted. It began adding up in his head, little piles of numbers to dull the numb and ache as he dug his brother’s grave.

Estimate an hour for showers over the space of a week. That’s fifty two hours a year. More then two days. Roughly fifty days over his entire life Sam wasted under the spray of often lukewarm water. He could have had Dean shower with him to make the most of that time, if only he’d known.

Then there was the four year stretch of time that Sam didn’t talk to his brother at all outside a few random phone calls to ensure the other was still living. That was one thousand four hundred and sixty days Sam could have shared with his brother but he was too stubborn. To stuck on the thought that he had to be _right_ about this at least. But Dean had let him go so it was his own fucking fault too.

Since his school years there was just the spatter of days after fights or the couple of times when Sam had some things to check into and . Or when he was possessed that one time.

 _Dude, you full on had a girl up inside of you for like a week._

“Don’t think about Dean.” Four words. The only four Sam had said in ten hours, thirty three minutes. Since his brother’s name tore from his throat along with the life from his eyes.

There were five hundred and eight shovel full’s of dirt separating Dean’s body from the surface. From Sam. And there were three broken blisters on his hands that bled from the night of being curled around splintered wood. There were nine hours spent hunched over tightly packed dirt, folded together in a shaking ball of pain.

After he managed to get things broken down to bare basics. Three days of solid crying. Two weeks without a shower. A solid forty eight hour period in which he did nothing but drink strong liquor and the subsequent two hours after in which he vomited it all up in random spurts of dark grey liquid.

Sam made a lot of stupid choices and said a lot of stupid things. Spent fifty eight minutes out running the cops on a hunt gone bad. Three weeks picking random bar fights with people until he pissed off one guy enough to get a fist in his gut and he spit blood for an hour afterward. That bruise stuck around for a month because Sam kept pushing at the flesh to make it burn. To make him feel alive. To make him feel human.

Four and a half months.

Eighteen weeks.

One hundred and thirty nine days.

Three thousand three hundred and thirty six hours.

Give or take.

And Sam was opening the door to find his brother standing on the threshold. Three quick blinks. One sharp inhale. Half a dozen heart beats. The slowing of the minute hand, the earth freezing on its axis, the world coming to a complete and total halt around them until they were one body.

Dean’s arms around his shoulders speak of familiarity. Dean’s voice was deeper as if layered with the time spent in unspeakable torture and pain. Dean’s flesh was warm. Dean was _there_ and Sam’s fragile balance on a barely there existence crumbled around him.

They spent two hours crying together on the bed, holding each other and shutting off the world. Then three days relearning the dips of muscles and curves of flesh in between the greasiest takeout food Sam could find, just to get Dean’s face to light up in that pleased grin.

Sam tried to tell Dean how the minutes had burned while he was gone but Dean was better at silencing him then Sam remembered. And gradually it shifted. Until he didn’t have to count the minutes, until he didn’t want to count them because it was better to just live in them.

They had rest of their lives.

The rest of forever.

Infinity unmeasured.  



End file.
